Chapter Text
The Marauder had ever so slowly been growing quieter over time. First, it had been Crosshair. His noise had been quiet, but had always been present. The silent breath, the quicker heart rate, the clean steps. The man had never had much to contribute to conversation, and when he had, it had been with a hiss and quietness to his voice that it was never too great for Hunter's enhanced hearing to handle. When he had... left, the oldest had found himself missing the raspy scoffs and airy chuckles of his voice. The empty space he left behind had quickly been filled by Omega of course, who evidently had been a tad louder. Still, at the start, Hunter would often find himself instinctively searching for the white noise that was Crosshair's breathing. He still hadn't become fully used to not hearing it. As much as it pained him to admit, he would always miss it. And a small part of him hoped for that sound to return.
Then it had been Echo. Naturally, Hunter held no qualms for the reason that his newest brother had left. Echo was a reg, and much more devoted to the rest of the clones than the rest of the batch was. He had always pushed to do more, and while he had and would never hold that against him, Hunter knew that they could not do as much as Echo wanted. Not if they were to make it out alive, keep Omega safe. When he had chosen to stay behind and work with Rex, they had all been sad, but known it was what Echo needed. But with him left the background noise that Hunter had not realized he had gotten used to. The creaking of his metallic joints that got the smallest bit louder when it hadn't oiled them in a while. The silent grunts and sighs while the others argued or messed around. The heartbeat that was almost a murmur, hidden behind the changes to his body. The gruffness in his voice that hid both his pain and his kindness. The ship felt a bit hollow without it all. And this time, there had been no one new to fill that space. Hunter sometimes tweaked with some metal just to hear a familiar creak that brought him a bit of comfort. He missed the noise, but it was not as if Echo would be gone forever, like Crosshair was likely to be.
Now, the ship was far too empty. Far too quiet. Tech was gone, and there was a promise that he would not be able to return. His silent whistle as he breathed through his nose was gone. His strong heartbeat, loudest only behind Wrecker's, would never fill Hunter's ears again. The tapping of his fingers when he did not have something to tamper or fix, the bounce of his leg when he was nervous or on edge, the monotone quips when one of his brothers said something he deemed stupid, all gone. It was a hole that could never be filled by anything again. It was a silence that rang so loudly in Hunter's ears that he wished he could hear something loud enough to deafen him. He would never get a headache from one of Tech's sounds ever again. He had never thought he would miss that, but he did. He mourned not only the loss of his brother, but the loss of every comforting sound that had come from him. It stirred him in a way he couldn't explain, a way that hurt and tugged on his heart.
They had lost Omega before. And by the maker, they would get her back again, he knew. He would hear her again, but it didn't mean the silence of her absence hurt any less. If anything, it was made more unbearable by the silence of everything else to. He didn't hear her quick heartbeat that only slowed when she slept or was comfortable against one of her brothers. He didn't hear her footfalls, bringing a light echo to the ship every time she moved. He didn't hear her gentle breathing, a sound she tried to hide as if she didn't want to be caught. He didn't hear her laugh, he didn't hear her disappointed sigh or groan when she was not involved in the way she wanted to be, he didn't hear her squeaks of joy when she accomplished something new. All of her was gone, and she likely didn't have those moments in wherever she was being held. He would give anything to have that back, and he was prepared for it.
And yet, despite all the loss that left their ship empty and dull, there was one silence that haunted him more than all of the rest. At least, for the moment. There was only one other than him to occupy the area where quiet should be filled for most others. And some of that background noise, that Hunter grew more and more grateful for, was still there. Yet different, somehow. Wrecker's heartbeat was still the same; loud and booming, in a way that would almost give Hunter a migraine if he focused on it too hard. That was the only sound that came from Wrecker that still was familiar and comforting. The rest was all different, and it scared the oldest in a way he was not sure how to explain yet.
Wrecker had always been a loud presence, whether he spoke or not. His thundering steps, his exaggerated movements that pulled at the air around him, the heaviness of his breath as he exerted himself with near always present excitement. When he spoke, it was with a boisterous laugh, an echoing enthusiasm, a deep growl of protectiveness, an abundance that no one else held. It was a blanket that covered Hunter's senses, one he would never take for granted again. He could not imagine what the lack of it would sound like, and he prayed that he would never have to hear it. Though, perhaps his prayers were making someone in the universe angry, because he was seemingly punished with a different kind of silence from his much larger brother. Wrecker's breath was deep yet dulled now. Held within his lungs in a way that could only be uncomfortable, as if he was afraid of being heard. His steps, normally bringing a vibrating rumble to the floor of the ship, now held a gentleness that was disconcerting. It was not the tiptoe that Wrecker used when he was trying to keep quiet around a sleeping or comfortable sibling. It was a hesitance in every footfall, a way of sneaking about that once again held the fear of being caught. His movements, usually exaggerated and creating a whoosh in the stuffy ship air, were now gentle and tight. He moved his body with a stiffness, not one of pain, and not one of sympathy. And when he spoke, the abundance was gone. If he spoke at all, it was quiet, hesitant, and fearful. As if he was scared of his own words being something that snapped the hull in half.
Of course, Hunter could understand why Wrecker was acting so different. They were faced with so much unknown, so much loss. He was not an idiot enough to think that all of what they had been through would only affect him. If anything, he sometimes thought that Wrecker had to be hurting more. His brother was and always had been the heart of the team, from the moment that had been pulled out of the tubes. It seemed like Wrecker had seen everyone else become jaded and harsh over time, and had made a conscious choice to never become like that. To keep a glow in him that lit up a room, and brought a much needed relief for when things were hard. And now, he had become the very thing that Hunter had wished he would never have to.
Today, he couldn't take that silence anymore.
Hunter looked out the window of their ship, eyes watching the bright and flashing lights of hyperspace. They had only just dropped off the clone younglings on Pabu. Despite their protests and willingness to help, Hunter had refused to force another to take up their mission. Not just because he had wanted something better for those kids, but because he was too afraid to put anyone else in danger anymore. For once, Wrecker had not put up a fight about it. Usually, the big man loved kids. He would want them to stay or provide help, giving the oldest the same desperate "puppy eyes" as the kids (usually Omega when she was begging) would. This time, Wrecker had not so much as sighed in disappointment when Hunter had made the final decision for them to stay on Pabu. While he was not upset that he hadn't had to argue with his brother as well as the children, a part of him worried about the lack of push back. Even as they flew through hyperspace, he half expected Wrecker to whine about being lonely. He was met with no such complaint, and that only scared him more.
They had not had a chance to sit down and really... talk about everything. It was not Hunter's strong suit; he was used to being a leader more than an older brother, an instinct that had been programmed into him from the start. Opening up and talking about deep rooted emotions had always been more of Wrecker's forte. Despite his usual "childish" behavior, the man was definitely the most emotionally intelligent of the batch. When things were bad, he had always been the one to approach it. Often times with a gentleness that was strange for a loud man like himself, but never unwelcome. In the past, he had brought even Crosshair to the tears that he had needed. With all of that in mind, Hunter had expected Wrecker to eventually come to him for the talk. It had been months, and no such thing that happened. The both of them seemed to be tiptoeing around it awkwardly for far too long, and Hunter felt like the air itself would snap soon if nothing was done.
And that realization gave him another, more painful one. If Wrecker was too upset to come to him with his feelings, or for Hunter's own, then he truly was at his worst. And the oldest had not gone to him to provide any kind of comfort at all so far. It had been months, and Hunter had been too caught up in his own fear and pain to give any relief for Wrecker's own. He had been a terrible brother thus far, and he couldn't stand it. He had to do something about it, or at least try. He needed to find some kind of sound from Wrecker to fill the agonizing silence of the ship, or he would lose his mind. Maybe that was selfish of him, but he could hardly help it now.
Wrecker was not sitting at the controls of the ship like Hunter was, but he could hear him in the back. He could hear that uncertain breath, the heartbeat that seemed a tad too quick in this moment. Those were the only things he could hear, though. And he was being so still; Hunter felt all the vibrations in the ship, but he could tell none of them were coming from his brother. He sighed, a defeated yet petrified feeling coming over him. He knew what had to be done, he knew he had to get up and talk to him. He also knew that this would only lead to tears and pain, so he was not looking forwardto it. At the very least, he hoped it would bring some relief for Wrecker. After a few more moments of debating himself, the enhanced clone got up from the pilot's seat and walked to the back of the ship.
Wrecker sat on Tech's slab of a bed. He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees and hands folded under his chin. Hunter had expected to find him holding Lula at the very least, but no. The tooka doll still sat lonely in the rear cannon, where Omega's room lay bare and empty. The fact that Wrecker did not have his usual comfort item made Hunter's heart hurt even worse. No, instead he sat stiffly and still, eyes ahead but looking at nothing. There was a hardness to his face, lines near his eyes that seemed to suddenly make him look so much older. In fact, all of his stance did. He no longer bore the air of an enthusiastic, childish man who punched first and thought later. Today, he sat like a man who was planning their next move, thinking of all the possibilities, trying to find the best way out of situation.
He looked like a man who had been forced to very suddenly grow up in a way he never should have had to.
That alone almost brought the tears out of Hunter's nearly braking damn of emotions.
Despite very obviously being lost in thought, Wrecker still looked up when Hunter got close. At least a little light returned to his eyes, his body perking up a tad. A smile spread over his jaw, but it in no way reached his jaw. His voice sounded so exhausted when he spoke, yet the oldest could hear the forced openness he put into it. "Heya, Hunter. Need somethin'?" he asked.
Hunter. Not Sarge, not sir, not brother or any of the nicknames he usually used when referring to his loved ones. Hunter. It was not as if he never said his brother's name, but today he said it in a way that he did when he was trying to get someone to talk. When he was trying to make his brothers open up, stop hiding their feelings and let it all out. Because he knew they were in pain. How had he known this was what Hunter had come for? Had he seen it in his eyes? Had he been waiting?
It took a lot of effort for the oldest to not break down right then and there. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, glancing between Tech's bunk and Echo's, which stood across from it. Sitting next to Wrecker seemed too forcing, too pushy. So he opted to sit across instead, stepping over and settling himself down in a similar position as Wrecker. His hands stayed lowered, even with his elbows on his knees. He opened his palms a bit as he spoke, towards his younger brother. "Actually, that's what I came here to ask you," he admitted. A wry chuckle left him, much to his own surprise.
Wrecker looked a bit surprised as well, but more likely because of his words and not his aching laugh. His eyes widened a bit, his jaw clenching a little. Hunter heard his heart do a little skip and heavy bump inside his chest. Wrecker's left leg moved ever so slightly, heel tapping against the floor, sending a tiny vibration to Hunter's own body. After a few moments, he seemed to recollect himself. "Aw, nah, I'm alright. Just thinkin'. Why?" he eventually managed to get out.
His voice was tighter now. Hunter could hear it, the way his throat closed a little bit around his words. Hunter sighed a little, his shoulders drooping as the defeated feeling returned once more. Maker, he was bad at this. "I... I wanted to check on you. You've been.. well, you've been acting different. And of course I understand why, but..." He cut himself off for a moment, swallowing thickly. The words felt trapped, yet fumbled out far too easily at the same time. "We haven't talked. About any of it, not really."
Wrecker's heartbeat skipped again. This time it picked up speed and remained there. His face twisted uncomfortably, as well as his body. His breath was still held tightly in his chest. "I... I know. I'm sorry. I should've come to you first. I know you're hurting and I-"
"You're hurting too," Hunter interrupted. He couldn't bear to see his brother apologize or make excuses. Not when his own shortcomings were also to blame for this moment. Wrecker's heart got louder again, and there was a choked sound in the back of his throat. Hunter continued. "I haven't been... the best brother these last few months. I'm sorry. I know I've been a bit rash and harsh." He swallowed again. "I wanted... I wanted to come to you. To talk. To... to let you know I'm here." He didn't know how else to word it. How to make someone open up, so easily like Wrecker often did. Again, he held his palms out, an unspoken invitation for Wrecker to say anything that was on his mind. He hoped that spoke better than his own words.
His younger brother shifted again, sitting up straighter. His eyes, brown and white, stared at him, at first unreadable. After a bit, dread and pain flashed over them. Then, the stare was gone. He turned his head away and looked down, a shameful expression latching to his face. Hunter could almost feel the guilt that suddenly clawed at his brother like a vice. His heart got faster, faster still. His breath finally, finally, heaved out of his chest, but not in the way Hunter would have wished. It came out shaky, hurt, and afraid. Finally, Wrecker spoke. "I couldn't get to him in time," he finally uttered, so broken and quiet even Hunter almost didn't hear it.
He knew there had been no way to easily transition into that. There was no way to gently lead up to something like that. Even still, the words cut him deeper than any knife would. Hunter flinched at it, his own eyes blown wide and his jaw slacking slightly. The admittance caught him off guard so much he couldn't get words out quick enough to reassure his brother. In the moments before his response, the silence of the ship felt deeper than ever.
"Wrecker, it's not your fault," he finally managed. The words came out more like an urgent blubber than a comforting reassurance. "You did what you could. Tech knew the risks. You couldn't have changed the outcome."
Faster heartbeat again, a rumble in his chest. Wrecker's words finally came loudly now, but not like usual. "I could have!" he shouted, anger and shame rearing their ugly heads. "I could have reached him! I should have gone faster, should have thought of some way to save him! But I didn't!" Everything came out heavy and loud, a cry of pain more than a lash out. Very suddenly, the man stood, his shoulders up and rigid. His arms and hands moved with his words, flailing and frustrated. "I didn't! Because I'm not the smart one, not like Tech. Because I'm an idiot who's only good at breaking and ruining things!" The last words came out raw and enraged, a rage that could only be held for oneself.
Hunter could not find comfort in this noise. It was all familiar, but still all wrong. His movements didn't hold the joy Wrecker's always did, his breath was only heaving because he was about to cry, and his voice carried in no way his brother should ever feel the need to speak. The oldest shrank back a little, staring in disbelief and hurt. His little brother, the life and soul of the family, had been carrying this all for so long. And Hunter had not offered him any reassurance. A mistake he could never take back.
And before he could say anything, could tell him how wrong he was, Wrecker continued. "And then I messed it all up again," he whined. The anger was suddenly gone, and all that was left was guilt and despair. His chest heaved as a sob finally forced its way out, and with it he seemed to lose all strength. Wrecker fell back into his seat, doubled over and head in his hands. "That freak doctor captured me first, used me! Got to you because he threatened me, and then he got Omega, and I couldn't stop him!!" The sobs tore out of him now, broken and uneven. It stole his breath, choking him. "I'm supposed to be the strong one, but I've been nothing but weak this whole time!"
Finally, it seemed Wrecker had no words left. The silence of the ship was filled with his attempts to stop his cries. He swiped at his eyes furiously, his body shivered, his heart hammered so loud it was almost deafening to Hunter. It didn't matter in the slightest. Somehow, the oldest couldn't speak or move fast enough. The whole world seemed to slow down, and dragged him with it. He was now too far away; the seat across from Wrecker created a choking distance that he couldn't cross fast enough. He dragged his body up, feeling so so heavy. In two steps that felt like a thousand, he reached his brother. He acted before he thought, his arms swinging around Wrecker's shoulders. He finally seemed to make it back to present speed when he did, feeling less heavy. He squeezed the man as tight as he could, trying to offer a pressure that could push the rest of the bad feelings out of him.
Even with Wrecker sitting and him standing, Hunter was barely over a head taller than him. But that seemed to be enough, because his younger brother pushed his face into Hunter's neck and shoulder. His arms came up and wrapped around the oldest's back, tightening just enough to where it was almost painful. The embrace didn't stop the crying. If anything, it only made it worse. Wrecker's sobs became heavier and louder as he held Hunter like a lifeline. He could hear the younger one's chest heave more than he felt it, could feel the way it rattled his own body. The anguish that came from it finally started to get to Hunter; tears began to form in his own eyes. No matter how much he blinked, he couldn't push them away.
After a few minutes, Hunter finally found his voice again. "It was never your fault, Wrecker, I promise," he whispered. It wasn't loud, but even with the sobs being as loud as they were, he knew his brother could hear him. "There was nothing you could do. Please, please don't blame yourself like this." The last words were a desperate plea, his voice cracking. It broke open the dam, a silent sobs began to lift from his own chest. Even still, Hunter refused to be silent now. He would not make the same mistake that he had these last few months. As they both cried, he kept uttering assurances and promises to his brother. He didn't know how to fight him, how to come up with some "logical" argument about how it wasn't Wrecker's fault. All he could do was continue to promise him that it wasn't.
The two of them remained like that for a while. At some point, Wrecker pulled Hunter onto the slab as well, curling himself up so he still fit in his big brother's shoulder. Hunter was not sure when that had happened, so lost in it all that he had barely noticed. It didn't matter. He refused to let go of Wrecker, rubbing his back and sometimes trying to pull him closer. The words "it's not your fault" was like a mantra on his tongue, though it came fewer and father in between as time passed. After some time, his brother's sobs seemed to slowly die out. Eventually all that was left was the occasional sniffle. Wrecker's breathing became more normal, still shaking a bit, but now deep and slow. His heartbeat came down from the quick lightness of pain, back to its deep and rumbling normalcy. Hunter had almost forgotten its true sound for a moment.
Even after Wrecker stopped crying, he remained there. Hunter's own more silent sobs came to an end too, and it left him with a deep exhaustion. He knew his brother had to feel it too, because his shoulders and head became heavier against his body. Hunter's squeeze became lighter, and his hand moved to rub circles over his little brother's back. The ship was filled with silence again. This time, however, more space was filled with Wrecker's white noise. The oldest sighed in relief when he heard it. Slowly, he moved back against the bunk. He pulled Wrecker with him, so that they were both leaning up against the wall.
Hunter wasn't sure how long the two sat there before he felt it. The breath from Wrecker that meant he was about to speak. When he did, his voice only wavered a little bit. "Hunter?" It was a quiet call, gentle and understanding. Yet reaching at the same time.
Hunter let out a sigh he hadn't known he had been holding. "Yea, Wrecker?" he answered softly.
Only then did Wrecker pull away, finally looking at him again. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, even the dead one. Tear stains remained where they had fallen down his cheeks, or had gotten trapped by Hunter's shoulder. Despite the sadness evident in his face, his expression somehow held a line of determination. And understanding. "'T wasn't your fault, either," he muttered softly. His words did not shake this time, his voice holding true and firm. His hand came up and squeezed Hunter's shoulder. His expression was familiar; it was the one he often had when he was comforting his siblings when things were down.
The oldest would have never asked for comfort in return from Wrecker. Not after all of that. It was very obvious that the big guy had needed this. Hunter wouldn't have even expected him to offer him a lifeline too, to give him the same promise that his brother had uttered over and over. He had thought his tears had dried up, but once again his eyes welled up a little. He didn't really want to start crying again; he didn't know if he even had the energy to do so. He sniffed quietly, cleared his throat, and nodded. "Thanks, Wreck. I... thank you." He didn't know how else to respond. He wasn't sure he even fully believed it. But it wouldn't be fair to think that, let alone say it.
Wrecker finally sat up straight, his back cracking a little as he didn't so. He leaned back against the wall, body heaving with a sigh. Hunter felt the air get a little thicker as he did so, and found comfort in it. He grunted a little as the bigger one pulled him in again, so he was now leaning up against the side of Wrecker's chest. His brother's arm remained around him, with the strength that said Hunter was not allowed to leave anytime soon. Again, Wrecker's breath hitched as he reached for words. "Can we stay like this? At least for a little while?" he asked. His voice contained a little bit of that childish whine to it.
It was a welcome sound, and a huge relief to Hunter. He let out another sigh; this one was not of defeat or pain. It was more content, a display of his affirmation. "I suppose so. We won't reach the sector for a while anyway," he reasoned. His own words came out exhausted and quiet. He wanted nothing more than to just sit there for hours and rest. Somehow, that emotional endeavor felt more draining than any mission before it had.
Wrecker only grunted hoarsely in reply, his body getting heavier against the wall behind the two of them. Hunter said nothing else either. Instead, he listened to the sounds from Wrecker he had so dearly missed. Even, heavy breathing that took the air in the room and left a bit of heat in its weight. The deep thrum of his heartbeat, not only loud in his ears, but making his very insides shake a little with it. The creak of tight joints was gone, left with a fullness that Hunter could feel. After a while, a new but recognizable sound came.
Wrecker's snores vibrated the area worse than his heartbeat, but the oldest didn't mind at all. Instead, he let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. Slowly, he let himself drift off as well, comforted by the now filled silence of the Marauder.